writing graciously on angry paper

Outside, my mind's lips whisper
to fingers graciously gliding over gilded lines.
Exhaling passion heavily in earnest
my cursive breath made the paper rise.
I inhaled deeply a hot thought of a summer scent
and the paper died, but its spirit revived
in a gust. That breeze that brings life
to thoughts.

I grasped the angry page in a death grip,
demanding it receive thoughts I penned.
Reaching for a draft to strangle hold,
mere dust devils in tornado training.
I swirled in the literary sand box of white
building images to be granules
in the wind.

Tattooing saw dust and glue,
branding this albino creature,
its wings slapping the table
as a breeze passed by. Wanting to fly.
Showing its temperament in a rustled tantrum
while I held it down. Tackling corner pages
still wanting to fight.

A chained slave the paper whimpers
pleading in ripples upon its fringes.
I drive a spear across its flesh,
my patriot the pen killing sentences.
Submissive ink did as it was told, scrolled,
writing graciously on angry paper.